Senseless
by barefoot friar
Summary: Things just had to happen. They needed to. People had to die.


**Senseless**

As soon as the first wall came up, so did the flowers. Daffodils and lilies and mixed patches of wild treats, blue and purple and golden hues dotted against the sandstone. It was natural for them to creep into the Abbey during the building stages, out of the woods and into a more sophisticated setting. Perfectly natural really, and besides, they were beautiful.

Strangely enough, nobody questioned the rose bush.

He didn't bring it to their attention. He didn't even realize it was there until he spotted Columbine over tending to it. Her thin paws were trimming away all the unwanted sections, allowing for fuller blooms later in the year. She sprinkled some water out of a cordial jar, gave it a loving pat, then left.

He thought for a moment. But no, not worth it. He went back to working.

The basic frame for the building was up in a month's time, and later the bricks were stacked and arranged together to make a home. The rose bush found itself nestled near the east wall, where it caught the sunlight easily each morning and grew wonderfully.

He was assisting Skipper with building plans when he saw Columbine again, showing the bush off to the newborn son. His small paws tried to grasp the flowers, a few petals falling to the grass. Inside his heart he felt something stirring, but it wasn't a pleasant feeling so he let it subside, and turned back to the parchment.

By the time next summer came, the roses were so well cared for by the mousewife that they bloomed twice the size as last year. Next summer saw more buds. And the next, the bush grew so tall that Columbine had to fetch some shears again.

Building was so busy that he didn't have time to aid her when she asked.

" No, I'm sorry, but Skipper needs this mortar as soon as I can bring it."

" Oh, I can't, the Abbess was just asking me about where we should put some of the outer buildings."

" I'm a little busy now, Columbine, but feel free to ask me once I finish helping Amber with this lumber."

Eventually she stopped asking and he resumed his stoic disregard. The year passed. New faces arrived at the Abbey, along with memories, and healing. He found himself relieved of the heartache that had plagued him before. There was still something missing

The Abbey reached completion withing another year, and amidst the celebration and joy he found himself filled with such wondering that he couldn't stop his heart from pounding. The secret glances over to the east wall resumed. Columbine was no longer tending to the roses. It wasn't something he could be upset about – she did have a family to take care of, a husband to be with and a life to build. He grabbed the shears from the gatehouse and wandered over.

The roses were lush, bright, and a warm red, beautifully delicate like the lace fringe of a young maiden's dinner dress. He touched a petal and found it to be very soft. With a small grunt he sat down and started clipping.

Tending roses was harder than he thought. One wrong snip and a whole flower was gone – just like that. It was amazing, and frightening. He didn't want to kill the blooms, but some were needed and some needed to go, in order for others to bloom more fully. He clipped at a small young one and watched it fall to the dirt, still bright and red, and knew that tomorrow it would turn black and decay and nobody would remember it.

He covered his eyes with a paw and tried to breathe regularly. A far off shore stood in his mind in such a vivid recollection that the sea spray on his face felt like tears. He watched the young child raise the sword and say goodbye. There was no anger – just peace. It had to happen. Father had to go and fight, and find vengeance and die. These things just happened.

And she –

Things _had_ to happen. If not, who would have saved his friends, his family, the dreams of the Abbey that he loved so dearly? Things just _had to_. They needed to. People had to die.

With a jolt he looked up into Gonflet's small blue eyes. While he had been lost in though, Gonff's son had crept up, along with his brother. Both young creatures were holding pawfuls of the roses, ripped from the stems, clutched in their claws. All across the ground where roses, strewn out like a splattering of blood. Nothing was left on the bush, just the memory of flowers and life.

He leaped up and raised his paw to strike them. With a squeak they fled off, calling out for their father and mother. Martin let his arms fall and watched them go.

The little brats! The little tyrants! Such inconsiderate disregard for living things! What ruffians, villains, murderers...

He picked up what he could and left the rest there to rot.


End file.
